


photographic memories

by lulumina



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Fluff, M/M, POV Sam Wilson, Pining Sam Wilson, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War Bucky, also mentioned - Freeform, bucky is a cocky little asshole, he's mentioned - Freeform, rated for language, sambucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 04:52:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulumina/pseuds/lulumina
Summary: Shoved haphazardly under the coffee table was a thick book, with a faded blue cover and yellowed papers sticking out. His curiosity getting the best of him, Sam set the mixer down and settled on the couch with the book.Sam usually wasn’t the type to snoop or pry into other people’s lives, but he and Bucky were close enough that he felt comfortable with a little exploring. They had come a long way since the freeway battle all those years ago, and he knew Bucky (probably) wouldn’t mind his curiosity.xxWhile borrowing Bucky's mixer, Sam comes across a worn old photo album, learning some things about his friend he would have never known.





	photographic memories

**Author's Note:**

> here it is! my first sambucky fic!
> 
> there will definitely be more in the future, especially with the tv show coming out soon.
> 
> in the meantime, enjoy!!! and don't forget to comment what you think :)
> 
> come hang out with me on my [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/luluminawrites)

Sam really needed Bucky’s mixer. 

He was baking a cake for his niece’s birthday, and his was on the fritz- probably, he thought, Steve snuck in and tried in vain to make some fancy pastry or baked good, failing miserably and breaking the damn thing in the process. Why couldn’t that man just buy his own kitchen appliances? 

When confronted by an indignant Sam, Steve blustered and bluffed and denied any correlation to the mixer casualty. Sam didn’t care enough to push it. 

So here he was on Bucky’s doorstep, waiting patiently for the hundred year old assassin-turned-baker to answer the door. After another knuckle rap on the door and still no answer, Sam took out his phone and dialed up Bucky’s number. After a couple rings, he picked up. 

_ “Hello?” _

“Hey, man. It’s Sam.” He shifted his feet on the welcome mat.

_ “...what’s up?”  _

“Are you home?”

_ “No. Why?” _

“Well, it’s a long story, but my mixer is shot and I was wondering if I could borrow yours.”

_ “That wasn’t a very long story.” _

Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Steve was messing with it, trying to bake something and I think he broke it. Happy?”

From the other end of the call, Bucky let out a raspy chuckle, and something stirred in Sam’s chest.  _ “That does sound like Steve. Yeah, go ahead and use the mixer. Just don’t let Steve anywhere near it.” _

Sam thanked him and hung up, then punched in the keycode Bucky had kindly given him in case of an emergency. 

Expecting to see a disaster zone of a living space, Sam was pleasantly shocked to find that Bucky was a surprisingly good housekeeper. The walls were spotless and white, a couple houseplants chilling in a corner or hanging from a hook on the ceiling. His little dining table was circular and draped in a lacy tablecloth. A singular couch was pushed against the wall in the living room, across from a basic brown coffee table and a smallish flat screen TV. 

After a kitchen search, Sam located the pale blue mixer in a cupboard next to a tub of decorating supplies. He tugged it out and moved towards the door, having what he came for. He nudged the door open with his toe, but before he could exit, something out of place caught his eye. 

Shoved haphazardly under the coffee table was a thick book, with a faded blue cover and yellowed papers sticking out. His curiosity getting the best of him, Sam set the mixer down and settled on the couch with the book. 

Sam usually wasn’t the type to snoop or pry into other people’s lives, but he and Bucky were close enough that he felt comfortable with a little exploring. They had come a long way since the freeway battle all those years ago, and he knew Bucky (probably) wouldn’t mind his curiosity. 

Sam tucked his feet up on the couch and smoothed a hand over the cover of the book. The leather was smooth and worn, and Sam could tell the book was well-loved, cherished and paged through hundreds of times. The blue of the cover had obviously once been deep and vibrant, the spine once stiff and crackly, but now both were worn and soft.

Flipping it open to the first page, a few lines of text caught Sam’s eye. In neat cursive, the letters read:

 

_ Here’s to twenty more years of adventure. Happy birthday, buddy. _

_ -Bucky _

 

A birthday gift from Bucky? To Steve, presumably? Was this from… that long ago? The writing was crisp and neat, wildly different from Bucky’s illegible chicken scratch. Although, Sam could recall watching over Bucky’s shoulder a few months ago as he signed his name on the apartment lease- forming each loop slowly and a bit shakily, the final product a painstaking line of wobbly cursive. The tight letters looked a bit familiar, especially when Bucky was being so careful. 

So this really was a gift from Bucky to Steve. Past Steve. 

Sam let out a little noise of interest and flipped to the next page.

He was met with a tidy layout of baby photos, two on either page. They were taken in one of those cheesy photo studios, the baby perched on a white wicker chair with the fake blue sky in the background. The babies in the photos weren’t anything special- just pudgy little people dressed up in white smocks and straw sunhats. 

Steve and Bucky, Sam guessed. They probably hadn’t met at this point, but it was clear to tell who was who- the baby on the right was a tad skinnier and sicklier looking than the dark-haired baby on the left- Steve and Bucky respectively. 

Sam let out a chuckle as he turned to the next page. 

These photos must have been after the boys met- one showed a young looking Bucky, maybe seven or eight, with his arm slung over a skinny boy with straw-colored hair. Steve, before the serum. They were both laughing, and there was a gleam in Bucky’s eyes Sam had never seen before.

The other photos were similar- as Sam kept paging through the book, each photograph had the same joyous energy as the previous. Steve and Bucky at Coney Island, Steve and Bucky in front of a ramshackle apartment, Steve and Bucky sitting on a couch, looking puzzledly at the camera, Steve and Bucky sitting in an art class, each toiling away at a drawing. 

In each photo, Bucky had the same sparkle in his eye, one of youth and vigor. Of innocence. Sam’s heart twanged, knowing Bucky’s eyes hadn’t carried that sparkle in decades. It was hard to tell if it ever would again. Bucky really was ripped out of his life, poked and prodded and turned into someone he wasn't for decades. Only now was he on the slow road to recovery, but he would never be able to go back to his old life.

Sam found himself staring absentmindedly at one photograph in particular- one of just Bucky, sitting at a table and gazing at someone, or something, out of view of the camera. His mouth was curled into a barely-open grin, as if someone just told him a joke and he was trying hard not to laugh. A dusting of rosiness covered his nose and cheeks, making them glow pink. His hair was tousled effortlessly, and he wore a tie slung loosely around his neck. The first few buttons of his shirt were tastefully undone, revealing a sliver of his chest. But it was the eyes that really captured Sam’s attention. Blue and bright, they crinkled at the corners and gleamed with that certain sparkle as in all the other photos, full of life and joy. Those eyes took a needle and started poking little holes in Sam’s heart, making him ache in the need to see them shine in person. 

Almost as if the heavens heard his thoughts, Sam heard a key jiggling in the lock and watched as the apartment door swung open. Bucky strode in and tossed his keys on the kitchen table, pausing when he saw Sam, with the photo album open in his lap, sitting on his living room sofa. 

After a moment, Bucky raised his eyes. “Funny. This doesn’t look like borrowing my mixer to me…”

Sam scrambled for an explanation, finally deciding on the truth. “It was sticking out from your table. I got curious. If it was something private, sorry if-”

Bucky waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry. Mind if I join you?”

Sam ignored the cartwheels of his heart and shrugged, scooting over on the couch as Bucky settled in next to him. He nodded as he saw the photo currently displayed. 

“Yep, I remember this one. It was after a Steve’s birthday dinner, probably his nineteenth? We had a lot to drink that night, as you can tell from my disheveled appearance.” Bucky let out a laugh. “Steve had a bit too much to drink and started dancing in the middle of the living room. He usually never danced, unless it was where no one could see him. I can count how many times I caught him two-stepping when he thought I wasn’t looking.”

Sam glanced over at Bucky to see a soft smile upon his face, eyes lost in the past. 

“I snapped a picture. He told me to burn it, but I hid it and put it in here just to make him mad, the little punk.” Bucky tapped a photo of Steve, midway through some poorly attempted dance move in the middle of a 1940s living room. 

The moment passed as the smile faded from Bucky’s face. He flipped to the next page and gazed at a ticket stub pasted to the paper, among a collection of photos of the boys in front of movie posters. 

As they continued paging through the book, Bucky stayed mostly quiet. Every once in a while, he would chuckle and point out a photo, explaining the day’s events behind it. 

Sam was learning things he never would have guessed, and some that didn’t surprise him at all. For example- Steve was as much of a self-sacrificial hothead as he was now, repeatedly throwing himself into fights with dudes three times his size. Most of the time, it was Bucky who came to his rescue. Funny that now, it seemed more like the other way around.

“Oh- that day we went to Coney Island,” Bucky explained, pointing at a photo of Steve with a mallet in his hand, trying out his strength at the High Striker. A smile played on his face as he recalled the day’s events. “He could barely get it past the second light.”

Sam pointed at a different photo. “Hey, what’s this one?” 

Bucky’s smile dropped as he shook his head. “Nothing. Just a- just a carnival thing, don’t know why it’s in here-” he explained as he tried to turn the page. 

Sam pushed his hand away. “Uh uh, nope. You tell me the deal with this picture.”

Bucky let out a long sigh. “Fine. Steve thought it would be funny to get a picture of me with a clown… because he knew I was scared of them.” The picture showed Steve and Bucky on either side of a terrifying-looking circus clown. Bucky looked more than a bit green in the face, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. He was physically leaning away from the clown, obviously completely uncomfortable. 

Sam was quiet for a second, then let out a laugh. 

“So you’re telling me- Bucky Barnes, toughest dude on the planet, could crush skulls in an instant-”

“Shut up, Sam-”

“Can take down a S.H.I.E.L.D squadron without breaking a sweat-”

“I swear to God, Wilson-”

“With his hands tied behind his back-”

“You better zip it, asshole-”

“Is afraid of  _ clowns _ ?” Sam nearly fell off the couch laughing.

“This is  _ exactly _ why i shoved this stupid book under my table. So dumbasses like you wouldn’t find it.”

Bucky stewed silently as Sam’s laughing fit calmed. Sam hauled himself back on the couch, wiped a tear from his eye and chuckled. 

“You done?” Bucky spat. 

“Yeah, man, I’m done.”

“Good, because we’re not gonna finish this book until you can pull yourself together.” Bucky closed the book and shoved it under the coffee table. He stood up and strode to the kitchen, Sam following behind, still chuckling. 

“What were you making?”

“Huh?”

“With the mixer. What were you planning to make?”

“Oh. A cake for my niece’s birthday.”

Bucky nodded. “Need a hand?”

Sam grinned. 

Realizing his mistake, Bucky backtracked. “I mean- need help? Because I can- I can help-”

Too late. “Nah, but it looks like you do!” Sam erupted into peals of laughter. 

Bucky stood silently in the kitchen, with a face of utter annoyance and resignation. 

Surfacing for just long enough to crack another joke, Sam gasped- “I don’t think I can HANDle it alone!”

“I hate you.”

“Hey hey hey, no need to get so up in ARMS about my jokes!” More uncontrollable laughter. 

Bucky grabbed a wooden spoon and pointed it at Sam threateningly. “If you don’t stop with the stupid puns this instant, I’m gonna bash your brains in with this spoon. Don’t think I won’t. I’ve murdered people!” 

Sam just laughed harder, grabbing onto the counter for support. “Keep tellin’ yourself that, Barnes,” He wheezed. “But I know you’d never put me in…” he wiggled his eyebrows. “...hARM’s way.”

“That’s it!” Bucky snapped. He brandished the spoon and ran after Sam into the hallway.

After a few minutes of chasing Sam around the apartment (and Sam chasing Bucky, once he got hold of a spatula) the men flopped onto the couch, exhausted. 

Only their heavy breathing could be heard for a moment, as the two caught their breath and stared at the ceiling. Sam turned his head to see Bucky’s profile. His mop of shaggy hair was damp from sweat, and his mouth was slighly open to suck in breaths of air. A light stubble dusted his jaw. He looked… really good, actually. 

Sam felt his face heat up and was about to glance away when Bucky turned his head, meeting Sam’s gaze with those stupidly gorgeous pale blue-green eyes of his. They were shining, a spark ignited in them that Sam recognized as the same one from the photobook. 

After a moment of registration, Bucky’s lips quirked into a cocky know-it-all smirk, and Sam’s heart jumped up into his throat. 

“Fuck you. I need to bake this cake,” Sam humphed, and stood up to go to the kitchen. Bucky stretched out a moment before following. He leaned against the counter and watched Sam get ingredients from the cupboard. 

“You gonna pay me back for those, Wilson?”

“Nope.”

 

After an evening of baking, the kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Sam and Bucky had gotten in an argument about what color frosting his niece would prefer, and now purple and blue icing was splattered across the cupboards and countertops- and on both of the men’s faces. But the cake was in the oven, the dishes were in the sink, and Bucky and Sam were seated comfortably on the couch. 

Bucky’s legs were thrown loosely across Sam’s lap, and they were both absentmindedly watching the baking show on TV. Every once in a while, Bucky would scoff and explain what the baker was doing wrong. Sam was just happy to be relaxing- he loved baking as much as Bucky, but it exhausted him. 

After a moment of watching Bucky and listening to his rant about the proper methods of whipping buttercream, Sam cut in. 

“I found a recipe for strawberry-pineapple upside-down cake last week. Wanna try it out sometime?”

Bucky looked at Sam and smirked. “As long as you don’t break my mixer, yeah.”

Sam grinned and lightly punched Bucky’s leg, who yelped in surprise. “Cool.”

“Cool,” Bucky replied, and continued his frosting rant. 

Sam gazed at Bucky’s animated face for a few moments, before turning his attention back to the television.

He could get used to this. 

 


End file.
